


Death Is A Welcomed Guest

by TheFoxConstellations



Series: There Is Beauty In The Broken [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Angst, Character Death, Depression, Guilt, Hatake Kakashi-centric, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kakashi Gaiden, M/M, POV Hatake Kakashi, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFoxConstellations/pseuds/TheFoxConstellations
Summary: He was four and the headband gleamed as it slid over his eyes, too big for his head and not at all made for a child.They told him he was a genin, that he should be proud to serve Konoha.The next year, he was an orphan.They all forgot he was only a child, too busy listening to the drums of war.





	Death Is A Welcomed Guest

_He was four and there were whispers, prodigyprodigyprodigy._  
_He was four and the world was bright._  
_He was four and his biggest worry was a bad grade._  
_He was four and he wanted to be just like Tou-san!_  
_He was four and the headband gleamed as it slid over his eyes, too big for his head and not at all made for a child._  
_He tried to ignore the looks of pity._

_He was five and there were whispers, traitortraitortraitor._  
_He was five and the White Fang was a disgrace._  
_He was five and there was blood._  
_He was five and he was alone._  
_He was five and the hallways once full of laughter were desolate, the only remnants of life were the faded pictures and the acrid scent of blood._

_He was six and there were whispers, disgracedisgracedisgrace._  
_He was six and all that mattered were rulesrulesrules._  
_He was six and he had nothing, he was nothing, his family was trash, and he was scum._  
_He was six and they were screaming, “Disgrace!”_  
_He was six and they were throwing things at him._  
_He was six and the apartment was empty, no one would see the way he had to clean rotten fruit off his clothes._

_The lastlastlast. WHEREISTHEPACK?! WHEREWHEREWHERE._  
_gone dead not here_  
_AbaNdonED_

_They all forgot he was only a child._

_He was eight and there were whispers, wasteoftalentwastewastewaste._  
_He was eight and there was a man._  
_He was eight and the man smiled down at him, “Hello, I am Namikaze Minato.”_  
_He was eight and the man was the first person to smile towards him in over a year._  
_The others had desecrated the Hatake Compound and beat him till there was more bruises than skin._

_He was twelve and there were whispers, thiefthiefthief._  
_He was twelve and the Uchiha wanted blood._  
_He was twelve and they demanded he die, a thief, stealing their precious bloodline, hoping to discovers all their secrets and tear them apart._  
_He was twelve and they eyed him like fragile glass._  
_He was twelve and he glared right back with eyes too old for a child, but war does things like that, doesn’t it? Chokes innocence until it dies, smothers freedom like a caged bird, and breaks apart lives like twigs blowing in the wind._

_He was thirteen and there were whispers, friendkillerkillerkiller._  
_He was thirteen and he agreed with them. Just another name to add to the truths._  
_He was thirteen and the rumors were back. Hatake, the disgrace, the traitor, the friend killer, just like his father._  
_He was thirteen and he eyed the blade._  
_Just like his father, huh?_  
_He put it away for another day._

_He was fourteen and there was...silence_

_He was fifteen and there was laughter._  
_It was his._  
_Mad laughter, shattering the silence, hysterical and there were tears in his eyes._  
_He sobbed._  
_He screamed._  
_He was fifteen and there was glass on the floor, in his arms, his legs, his stomach._  
_Fascinating, he eyed the blood with muted feelings like a blanket had smothered his emotions and all he could do was admire the red._  
_His wrists burned and he licked his dried lips._  
_He liked the pain, it made him feel alive._  
_He was fifteen and he was alive._

_He wished he wasn’t._

_He was sixteen and there was nothing._  
_Desolate, emotionless, he was the perfect shinobi._  
_He was the most imperfect human._  
_He was sixteen and there was a toddler in his arms, blue eyes stared back at him and a single tear slid down his face, soaked into his mask._  
_Too much, too soon._  
_The scars in his heart were stitched with shaky hands and teary eyes. It was messy and done too quickly._  
_They split open and he ran._  
_He was sixteen and he couldn’t help but thumb a piece of glass with a thoughtful look._

_Gai asked why his wrist was bleeding._  
_He gave no answer._

_He was eighteen and there was...hope?_  
_He was eighteen and there he was._  
_He was eighteen and the boy had blue eyes, brighter than the sky and a grin greater than the sun._  
_He was eighteen and he desperately wished to hold him, hug him, tell him all the little things._  
_He was eighteen and he offered him a bowl of ramen._  
_He was eighteen and he turned away, there was a bitter feeling in his chest._  
_He threw himself away into S-rank missions._  
_The Sandaime could only watch with tired eyes._

_They were all tired._  
_He just hid it better._  
_His wrists still burned._

_He was twenty-six and there were whispers, badideabadbadbad._  
_He was twenty-six and they were Genin._  
_Innocent children, untouched by war. Rough around the edges but good, and most importantly, pure._  
_He didn’t want to touch them, didn’t want to look at them._  
_He doesn’t deserve this._  
_He was part of the ANBU, he was Friend Killer Kakashi, he is a monster._  
_Why is the Sandaime allowing someone like him near them?_  
_He ignores them, walks away too soon and comes to them too late._  
_Lieslieslies, ablackcat-notheroadwas-anoldlady…._  
_He keeps trying, but why do them come closer?_  
_He is a starved man and they are the meal._  
_He can’t help but wonder why their affection feels so good, almost better than the glass._

_They don’t even notice the blood._  
_He laughs and they wonder why it sounds like he's screaming._

_They find him with red wrists and bloodshot eyes._  
_Myfaultmyfaultmineminemine._  
_Death is a welcomed guest but the others shoo it away._  
_He can't help but wonder why._

_He was thirty and he knew._  
_He was thirty and he saw._  
_He was thirty and the sharingan was spinningspinningspinning._  
_He was thirty and he remembered, a precaution, one he hoped he would never have to use._  
_He brushed off the looks Naruto gave him and hoped no one else noticed._  
_Chiyo wasn't the only one willing to sacrifice their life that day._

_He was thirty-nine and there were screams, nonono!_  
_He was thirty-nine and he was choking on his own blood, his lungs spasming as his body struggled to live even when he knew what was happening._  
_Fingers twitching, and eyes rolling back in panic, he can't help but feel terrified._  
_Can't breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’tbreathebreathebreathe._  
_A gasp, a gurgle. Blood drips from his mouth, seeps into the ripped remains of his mask._  
_He was thirty-nine and he was there._  
_He was thirty-nine and Naruto was screaming, he wished the boy-no, man, would stop and let him die._  
_He was thirty-nine and he couldn’t help but smile, an eery picture painted by the blood on his lips and in his teeth._  
_He was thirty-nine and-_  
_He took one last breath._

_He was twenty-six and there was a man._  
_He was twenty-six and the man said, “I am Uzumaki Makoto.”_  
_He was twenty-six and the man was familiar, with such familiar blue eyes_  
_He was twenty-six and the man looked at him with those blue eyes, brighter than the sky but darker than the ocean._  
_He couldn't help but feel like he knew him from somewhere._  
_The man smiled, a smile full of remorse and nostalgia._  
_Kakashi couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his chest at the look._

_The glass dropped, slipped from his hands and-_  
_His heart was finally beginning to heal._  
_Scars stitched back with steady hands and kindkindkind blue eyes._

_One day, maybe not now, he’ll realize just how important he was._  
_But for now, all that mattered was the red haired man with a shy grin._  
_And as he looked up at the bright sky, he couldn't help but wish those days would come sooner._

**Author's Note:**

> A kinda sequel/prequel to Time Is A Fickle Thing, mainly because I felt guilty that people asked for more but I couldn't think of anything.


End file.
